


Jagged Scars, Sharp Blades

by Alfer



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Fluff, KE Week 2020, Scars, hints of dark eve, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26229190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alfer/pseuds/Alfer
Summary: AU where Eve and Villanelle are soulmates who share each other's scars. Everything goes the same, until it doesn't.Day 1 - Soulmates
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 10
Kudos: 91
Collections: Killing Eve Week 2020





	Jagged Scars, Sharp Blades

For almost half of Eve’s life, there had been not a single blemish on her skin. Not the scraped knees of childhood, the thin scars of adventures gone haywire or of simple surgery. Nothing at all.

It maybe should have bothered her more, when school friends showed each other a new scar that had appeared the night before, or whispered questions about who they imagined their soulmates to be during sleepovers, but simply put, Eve had more to worry about. Like never quite fitting in with any group of friends, or being obsessed with tales of real crimes even in middle school. 

Her parents worried sometimes, about that and the lack of scars, but there were possible explanations. Maybe her soulmate would be a bit younger than her, was the obvious one. Maybe they were exceptionally well-cared for. Maybe the rules that guided when a soulmate’s scars showed up in the other’s skin were a complete mystery and no one really understood how the hell they worked.

Eve’s bet was on the last option.

Still, it did not bother her. She had the crushes any high school girl had (and if she didn’t really care for the boys that she professed to crush on, then what of it? Fake it till you make it and all that), and lived her life not bothering with thoughts of soulmates or destiny.

Then the first scar showed up. She was 16, maybe 17, in the middle of a maths test, when the skin in her left leg burned bright with pain for a very long second, before mellowing into a dull throb. The test was out of her mind, and it was all she could do to end the goddamn thing and ran to the nearest bathroom to see what had happened.

And there on the skin of her leg, clear as day, was a jagged band of rough skin. For a moment, Eve couldn’t quite believe it. She traced the scar, for that was certainly what it was, stopping as soon as the strange texture registered in her mind.

Did her soulmate finally manage to get themselves hurt? This looked like the result of a bad fall, maybe from a tree or bicycle accident. Like a childhood adventure gone wrong. Eve laughed alone in the bathroom stall. It was just her luck, she had a soulmate some fifteen years younger than her. With that though, Eve firmly decided to leave this nonsense alone. She would not look for this person, or pay too much attention to the scars.

After all, this whole situation did not bother her, so why begin to care now?

Every few weeks, a new one appeared. For the last of high school and all the new battles of college, steady as the seasons. Eve did her level best to ignore them, but a part of her worried. Did she fall and scrap herself up this often when she was a child? Or was something bad going on with her soulmate?

So far, none of the scars were too serious, but their frequency bothered Eve. She hoped however this person was, they were just a very outdoor and bold kid.

But even that worry fell to the wayside in the face of first year of college, of finally learning more about the minds of criminals that had so fascinated her for so long.

And so, time passed. Life went on, Eve went back to England, met Niko. Ignored her scars, ignored his, and decided to get married. She ignored a lot of things. 

  
  
  


The first time she saw Villanelle, in that bathroom with too bright light, there had been a jolt. Something about her called to Eve. Might have been her catlike eyes, or the way she held herself. Whatever it was, Eve had wanted to know more about her from the start.

Of course, then she stepped out of that bathroom to a bloodbath, and that took priority for a bit. Until she realized the beautiful woman she had seen in that bathroom was the one responsible for the trail of dead bodies Eve had been following for two years now. A shiver had run up her spine the moment the realization took over her, but it was not out of fear.

The instant fascination turned to anger when Bill was killed. God, if only Villanelle knew how much he teased Eve over her, how he had been the first to suggest maybe all the attention she gave to Villanelle was due to more than plain curiosity.

He had been the only one Eve told about the more severe scars, showing him a few. They had become more serious as time passed, from bad but common wounds to what were clearly cuts and, on the calf of her left leg, something that looked a lot like a gunshot wound. At the time, they had arrived at the conclusion Eve’s soulmate had either enlisted to the military or to a gang. Assassin training somehow escaped both of their imaginations.

To this day, Eve can’t talk about him with Villanelle. She misses him fiercely, and while Villanelle never gave a true reason for killing him, maybe it was because of that. There was guilt there too, for his death, for the child who would never know him, and for so much more.

For a long while, she allowed that anger and guilt to drive her, ignoring everything else until she found her assassin, thrashed her apartment, and made a new scar show up in her own skin.

It would be a useless lie to say she was surprised, but the sudden burning at her side, coupled with her surprise at her own actions, allowed Villanelle more than enough time to flee. What would Eve have done, had she not? Help her, she knew, and where might that timeline have taken them?

Probably the same end result, if she was true to herself. After all, touching that scar, made by her own hand and an unequivocal proof of what Eve already knew deep down, became a comfort greater than anything else her life had to offer. 

Niko left, and it took Eve days to notice. She did not fight him, or the divorce papers that eventually showed up at her door. It was better this way, for both of them. She had not been a good wife to him, but she could at least give him his freedom back without any more drama.

  
  
  


She knew Villanelle was alive, the scar proved it. The desire to see her again grew by the day, and when the whole mess with the Ghost brough an opportunity, Eve took it. Maybe placing a hit on herself wasn’t the best way to get in touch with one’s soulmate, but Eve’s situation was a bit particular.

That reunion ended with Eve pressed against her own kitchen sink, knife to  _ her  _ belly this time, and making promises she didn’t know if she could keep.

“Will you give me everything I want?”

Villanelle’s voice alone had Eve breathing faster, pressing herself closer to the blonde even with the knife between them.

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

With the tip of the blade, Villanelle pulled Eve’s tank top up, just a bit, and stepped back enough that she might see. Eve obeyed the command, pulling her shirt up to under her breasts.

Villanelle’s eyes zeroed in on the scar, her breath catching in her throat. Catlike eyes, Bill had made fun of Eve for saying, but there was no other way to describe them. Once, Eve might say they were empty save for a vague curiosity, but right now, there was so much flickering in those hazel eyes as Villanelle dropped the knife and touched the scar. Her touch was soft.

“You marked me, but it shows up on you. How weird is that.”

Villanelle sounded so honestly perplexed, it made a chuckle escape Eve. For a moment, she could almost forget that she was in the arms of a very skilled murderer.

“Very weird. None of this soulmate thing makes any sense, but here we are.”

Maybe she should have phrased that differently. Villanelle tore her gaze from Eve’s scar with difficulty, then gave that arrogant little smirk Eve would never admit had a prominent place in most of her late night fantasies.

“Here we are. So, what do you need me to do?”

  
  
  


Their working relationship was weird, to say the least. And Villanelle was a little shit through it all (when Eve was feeling generous, she could admit that she wasn’t much better either).

That it all ended in blood should be no surprise, and yet…

It was another what if moment, maybe even bigger than the bed in Paris. If Villanelle had not taken the gun, would their life in Alaska have worked out? And if she had truly been in mortal peril, would that change things? Well, yes, it would, because Eve was ready to go with her. It was only the broken trust and bone-deep ache of betrayal that stopped her.

Eve had lost faith, or broke faith, with everyone else in her life. For some ungodly reason, the only person she trusted, even before Carolyn decided to grace with her presence the shitty roman apartment she had sent Eve to in the first place, was Villanelle. 

That damned connection, soul-born or arising from their mutual obsession, simply would not be quiet. Eve knew the second Villanelle decided to shoot her, because the scar in her side burned bright for a second again, just before an actual hole was torn on her other side by Villanelle’s bullet.

  
  
  


It took Eve months to recuperate. Either her age was catching up to her, or a bullet wound might actually be a tad more serious than a stab wound, who’d have guessed. Carolyn had approached her once during her recovery. Eve threw a full glass of water at her head and howled like a mad thing until she went away. Not a word exchanged, but it made Eve feel better, for a few moments.

Then it was the mind-numbing boredom of work and life in a spectacularly shitty apartment.

Even then,  _ even then _ , Eve could still feel Villanelle. Did she feel Eve as well? She must know Eve is alive, had the scar now to prove it. Or did something go weird again, and Villanelle’s would only carve its way into fair skin after the angry mark had finally left Eve’s? Both sides of her belly burned every few nights or so, and not for the first time, Eve cursed at whatever higher force decided  _ this _ was a good way to point to a soulmate.

That was how her shitty life went, until the Twelve seemed to remember they should be doing something about MI6, and Kenny died.

Inevitably, the path Eve took after that led her straight to Villanelle. Or Villanelle to her, as the case may have been, on that bus. The desire to strangle Villanelle right then and there had taken over as soon as her name left those full lips, but by the end of their pathetic little fight, it had drained away. 

Eve was left with an ugly bruise on her forehead, tingling lips, and Villanelle’s scent all around her. Villanelle had the bruise and the kiss too.That was their way, one always left their mark on the other.

  
  
  


_ Admit it Eve, you wish I was here. _ That should have been Eve’s clue to get the hell out of there. But honestly? Eve was tired. She did not give a single fuck about any person she worked with, not one, and there were only two questions she needed answers to. 

So she stayed, and that was as much an invitation as a flowery letter would have been. Sure enough, Villanelle took it as intended.

She found Villanelle sitting on one of her two rickety chairs, elbow resting on Eve’s equally decrepit kitchen table (or what passed for it, at least), looking more tired than Eve ever remembered seeing her. She wore a simple shirt and pants, somewhat reminiscent of their first meeting in another kitchen a lifetime ago. Her scent was not as overpowering as on the bus, but it was the first thing Eve noticed. 

Leaving her things unceremoniously by the door, Eve pushed the other chair, sitting in front of Villanelle. They simply stared at one another for a good while, until Villanelle finally spoke. 

“I did not kill the boy. I didn’t know he was dead until after I saw you.”

Eve nodded. She knew as much, did not care to ponder on why that was such a certainty, but she wanted to hear Villanelle say it anyways.

“There’s internal fighting in the Twelve. I don’t know what’s happening, but your boss is probably involved.”

Again, Eve nodded. That Carolyn was somehow working with the Twelve was as good as certain to Eve by now, and the idea that Kenny was killed because of some disagreement between his mother and the rest of her cabal was Eve’s main theory for his murder.

Another long moment of silence between them. Villanelle kept looking at Eve, Eve noticed Villanelle’s left hand absently touching a point on her left side.  _ It’s really just like the two of us, to have the same shitty coping mechanisms. _

“Can you say anything, Eve? You can scream at me again, if you want.”

The Villanelle in the bus had been all swagger and arrogance, even managing to make the ugliest suit Eve had ever seen look appealing by sheer force of personality. This Villanelle was different. Still just as much of a force of nature, occupying all of Eve’s attention just by virtue of existing in the same space as her, but not overstepping into smothering.

Eve hadn’t seen Villanelle this open in... ever. Maybe once, in her big bed in the middle of a MI6 apartment, wearing a pretty kimono and nothing else. But that moment had been ruined quickly. At least here, Eve knew no threesome partners would be coming out of the bathroom any time soon.

She was more tired than Eve had first assumed too. Blood-shot eyes and a few wild blonde strands flying away from the low ponytail she sported. Bruises on her knuckles, scratches on her arms. Not enough for Eve’s skin to bear, but a sign that Villanelle had been busy.

Eve rose from the chair, heading for the barely functioning stove and the kettle on top of it.

“Do you want some coffee?”

Villanelle sighed behind her, in relief or in annoyance, Eve did not care to know.

“Eve, I saw what coffee you have here, it is shit.”

Eve turned back, raised a single eyebrow. 

“So?”

“Yes, please.”

  
  
  


After that, things got really weird. Villanelle left after contemplating how shitty Eve’s coffee was while drinking the whole mug. Few days without word from her, as Eve investigated Kenny’s murder, and the mess that the Twelve seemed to be getting itself into.

Then Villanelle showed up again. Sitting in the same chair and with the same tired half-smile.

Eve fixed them both a cup, and sat in her chair.

“I think I understand now, why you said no.”

For a moment, Eve’s teeth ground together, rage seeping in. She swallowed it down with a mouthful of terrible coffee and nodded for Villanelle to continue.

“I took the choice away from you. It should have been your call, when to take your first kill.”

A small part of Eve, something left over from when she had been a decent person, wanted to protest, to say that she would never have made that call in the first place. The rest of her knew better than to keep lying to herself.

Villanelle’s gaze held her own, for once Eve had no hesitation in letting herself get lost in what lived behind those eyes.

Did Villanelle notice that Eve was the one touching her scar for comfort now? Had she noticed even before Rome?

Did it matter?

Eve pondered for a moment on what to say, which parts of herself she’d bare to Villanelle’s undivided attention. The other woman was being honest, truly honest, with Eve. For once, maybe they should match each other in the middle, instead of with blows.

“That’s part of it. You broke my trust too. I,” Eve swallowed, grasped her mug tight, “I did say yes, to Alaska,”  _ to you, _ “but you lied to me, about something that important, and in the worst possible moment.”

Eve could scream. Could rage and throw the hot coffee at Villanelle’s face.

“It hurt,” Eve’s voice caught in her throat, “Almost as much as the bullet. It  _ hurt _ , Villanelle.”

Villanelle’s eyes were shiny, tears barely held back. In another kitchen, those would have been fake and worthless. Here, somehow, impossibly, Villanelle seemed to understand.

“I am sorry, for the hurt.”

Not for the bullet. But how could Eve ask her to be sorry for that, when she had never been sorry for the blade?

  
  
  


Another night, Villanelle waited for Eve seated on Eve’s bed, head low and hands gripped tight to each other between her knees, elbows resting on her thighs.

Eve got a decent enough tea out this time. It felt like a night for tea.

Villanelle took the tea, but kept her head down. Eve waited. Got worried. Swallowed down the worry with the tea. 

“What’s wrong?”

Seemed like Villanelle was paying attention, for she used the excuse of the tea now to buy herself some time.

“I found my brother. Wasn’t even really looking for him.”

“Oh,” Eve was sure Villanelle’s file listed no living kin. But that would be easy for the Twelve to alter, wouldn’t it?

“He has a kid, Eve. Obsessed with Elton John, he’s better at english than Pyotr is.”

Was Pyotr the brother? Must be.

“Pyotr beats up old sofas, to not beat people. Bor’ka…”

Villanelle stopped, raised her head. God, she looked exhausted.

“I think he’s like us, Eve.”

At another time, Eve could have made a joke there. But she knew what Villanelle meant. And what it meant for her to be telling Eve this.

Taking Villanelle’s mug and setting it by the foot of the bed, Eve made a decision.  _ Time to invoke the courage of a middle school girl with a crush _ . She took Villanelle’s hand in hers, laced their fingers together.

“Are they safe?”

Villanelle nodded, eyes wide and still looking at Eve’s hand.

“Alright, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it will be good to him, living like I did. Was it better, the way you lived?”

Eve sighed. “Never an easy question with you, is it?”

That got a smile out of Villanelle, small but bright.

“It was… alright, in some ways. I was bored, most of the time. A lot of the time. But it wasn’t a horrible way to live.” She traced a thin scar that ran over the knuckles of Villanelle’s left hand. Eve remembered that one, getting one of her father’s sharp meat knives and running it over the back of her hand, lightly, just to see what it would do. The blooming red had been fascinating to her.

“There was something missing, always. I could ignore it, for some time, but never for long.”

Villanelle nodded, absorbed Eve’s words for a few minutes.

“Do you think that would be the best for Bor’ka?”

“I think we should keep an eye on him. My way wasn’t perfect, yours wasn’t either,” Villanelle nodded, some steel back in her eyes, “so maybe we see how he deals with it, and help him. Maybe just knowing he’s not alone will help by itself.”

“We?”

Villanelle smiled at her, teasing. Eve scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Yes, we.”

“Good.”

  
  
  


The next visit, Eve knew in advance. She knew, because her left bicep burned hot with pain in the middle of her Bitter Pill shift. Sure enough, another jagged mark was there once she got her sleeve out of the way, angry and badly stitched.

She found Villanelle sitting in her tiny bathroom, trying to stitch the wound herself.

“Villanelle, what the fuck?” Eve was not proud of how her voice broke when she saw the other woman, bloodied and pale again. She was a little happier over how quickly she got to Villanelle’s side, and how steady her hands were as she took over.

Villanelle allowed herself to relax, resting her forehead against Eve’s shoulder as Eve tried to treat the wound.

“Everything is going to shit. I don’t want to keep doing this Eve. I don’t like being a pawn.”

_ That _ , Eve could understand, easily.

“I know. I think we can disappear now, in the middle of this mess, and have a chance of not getting killed.”

Villanelle only sighed against Eve, seeming getting comfortable despite the fact they were squeezed together inside a tiny bathroom and trying to stop one of them from bleeding all over the floor.

“Hey, I’m serious. Don’t fall asleep on me now, V. I’ve been investigating those fuckers for years. They’re not as smart as they think they are. I’ve got enough on them, or at least on Carolyn, to get us out.”

Villanelle shifted, hiding her face in Eve’s neck.

“That’s nice,” her accent was the thickest Eve had ever heard, hard consonants and the soft growl of her voice making Eve react in very inappropriate ways to the situation at hand. “I still have the money, I’ve got a lot hidden everywhere. You can pick where we go this time.”

Despite herself, Eve laughed.

“Let me finish this up, and I’ll cook you something too, when we get wherever we’re going.”

Villanelle managed a nod, pulling back and shaking her head. She got her bearings back enough to help Eve finish the stitching, and to take some of her own weight onto her legs as Eve helped her to bed.

“We can’t stay long. They’ll find us soon enough.”

“I know. But you need rest, and I need to get a few last things in order. Go to sleep Villanelle, I’ll keep watch.”

  
  
  


They had left in the next morning. Eve had a pendrive with so much dirt on so many important politicians and celebrities, it was a miracle they weren’t sniped by some unrelated assassin a thousand times over that morning alone.

It seemed like the Twelve really were destroying themselves from the inside, too busy cannibalizing themselves to hunt for a stray assassin and a disgraced government agent. For as long as they stayed out of their business, at least. Neither Eve nor Villanelle had any illusions this peace would be permanent.

A year on, and they had been left alone so far. Eve had decided for a cabin near one of the thousand lakes of Finland. Not Alaska, but she did want somewhere remote, for now. Villanelle had been happy to oblige, finding them a cute cabin far away from everyone else.

They had plans, and they executed a lot of those plans in these last months, but right now Eve found herself under Villanelle on their bed, getting her breath back as Villanelle kissed her cheeks and neck, soothing and teasing Eve all at once.

One of Eve’s hands searched for and found the scarred flesh on Villanelle’s stomach, while Villanelle traced a path from Eve’s lips to her left arm.

Eve’s voice was rough, and she had to clear her throat a couple of times before getting it under control.

“I tried so hard to ignore these scars, and for so long, I never thought they’d come to mean this much to me.”

Villanelle grinned, “I am very hard to ignore, Eve. You should have known better.”

Eve laughed, and surprised herself yet again by how carefree she sounded.

They still had so much to do, so many enemies left to deal with before they were truly safe. But here in this bed, with Villanelle being a dork and still somehow also being the most beautiful woman Eve had ever seen, everything was alright.

**Author's Note:**

> I changed the details about Villanelle's family because I'm still not sure what I think about that retcon. Hope this was alright overall, it was very much not edited, nor beta read, so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> I've been thinking about this au for freaking ages. I did not do justice to the idea, but I hope it was a fun read at least.


End file.
